Beneath thy steadfast, half-reproachful eye
Large Ocean chafes,—and, white with bitter brine,
Heaves restlessly, and ripples from the light
To darker shadows,—ev’n as noble thought
Recoils from human passion, to a night
Of splendid gloom by its own mystery wrought.”
“What made you think of the sea?” interrupted El-Râmi.
Féraz looked up dreamily.
“I don’t know,”—he said.
“Well!—go on!”